


Ebony and Ivory

by Brian J Christopher (ikudou)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Denial, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2845775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikudou/pseuds/Brian%20J%20Christopher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaise Zabini fucks Draco Malfoy. Harry Potter watches, huddled under his Invisibility Cloak. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ebony and Ivory

**Author's Note:**

> An assortment of my personal kinks, blink and you'll miss them.

  
**Ebony and Ivory**

 

Harry watched, mesmerized, as the huge dark column of Zabini's cock forced itself into Malfoy's hole. It seemed inevitable that it should break him, maim him, even, but Malfoy made a strange, short sound, a little breathless "Oh" on the exhale, and his thighs trembled visibly, muscles spasming before eventually relaxing enough to let the intruder further in. Zabini gave a grunt, panting with exertion, and cupped Malfoy's cheeks. He spread them wide open, like he actually knew that there was someone lurking in the shadows, someone like Harry, who might enjoy seeing more. 

Harry didn't know if he enjoyed seeing more. He was frozen in place, petrified by the sight of cock stretching tight skin as though by a basilisk's gaze. Malfoy sighed again, softly, and Harry suddenly wished he could see his face. He wanted to see pain there, because the very thought of how an expression of pure pleasure would look like on that face terrified him. 

An abrupt realisation hit him: what if Malfoy's been cursed to endure this? What if these tiny sighs, this unbelievable _quietness_ in the face of blatant torture is a sign of an Imperius, or worse, at work? No-one can possibly withstand something like this without so much as a moan, surely…

Malfoy moaned right then: an ecstatic, drawn-out sound; Harry grabbed his cock, painfully hard and leaking into his pants, in an unconscious effort to keep himself from coming. A second ago he was utterly unaware of just how hard he's been, watching this, this beautiful, mind-bogglingly hot atrocity. 

Malfoy's back was rigid, he trembled all over, and then he moved his hips just so… And Zabini groaned in response. He wasn't yet fully immersed in Malfoy's bottomless pit of a hole, unbelievably, and, horrified, Harry thought: he's going to do it in one swift stroke, he's going to push all the way in and Malfoy will _break_. But before Zabini could so much as flex his fingers to get a better grip on Malfoy’s pale arse, Malfoy sighed again, rose up an inch or two, and sank down with the finality of a portrait door being shut in a scared first-year’s face. 

Harry was pretty sure the shocked outcry that followed was his own, and painfully aware that the only thing that saved him from exposure was the fact that neither Zabini nor Malfoy cared to listen. Harry felt dizzy with relief and arousal, and wished he could shut his eyes and just. not. look, but his brain seemed to've forgotten the concept. He could come just from this, he realised, when Malfoy found it in himself to rise and fall on Zabini’s cock with yet another soft "Oh", and then he did it again and again and again until he fell into a broken, stuttering rhythm, his head on Zabini's shoulder and his hands grasping Zabini's back and his stupid, tiny, greedy little whole stretched wide around Zabini's ridiculously huge prick. The ohs didn't cease, either: they were wiggling their way into Harry's ears, so bloody quiet and needy and stupid, they were killing him. 

My prick is bigger, Harry thought distantly, not even trying to block this train of thought anymore; If he enjoys this sort of thing, he'll love my prick, it's bigger, he won’t be as quiet, I can make him scream and whine and moan like a desperate thing, I can give it to him good, he can bloody take it, he wouldn't balk at the size like Ginny had. I can...

"’m close", he heard Malfoy breathe out through the roaring of blood in his ears and his cock. Zabini's response was nothing short of a growl, and Harry thought, panicked for some reason: Why is he letting Malfoy do it? Why should the slut set the pace, when he could easily flip him over and pound into him until he begged for mercy? Was Zabini as humbled by the size of his own cock as Harry was? But Malfoy loved it. He _lived_ for it. Didn’t he?

Zabini was the first to come, and Harry just about followed him into oblivion, but held on to some miraculous shred of self-control: he was determined to see Malfoy lose it. He dashed sideways, past caring how much noise he was making, and stumbled to a halt to stare greedily, mere feet away. 

Malfoy's forehead was unnaturally smoothed, his mouth shaped the very soft “Oh” he's been uttering; he looked lost in ecstasy beyond anything Harry would ever know, his pale body poised yet somehow completely relaxed, from the long neck to long arms to sharp knees. And Zabini was so much darker by comparison, scrunched over and under him: like a thestral, Harry thought, enveloping a man in its wide, bat-like wings meant to carry and protect despite somewhat scary appearance. The contrast was powerful and magical: beautiful.

Malfoy's face, usually so sharp and expressive, betrayed nothing. He shook bodily, once, and Harry palmed his cock helplessly as he watched him spill, untouched, over Zabini's smooth black chest and stomach. Harry stumbled backwards into a wall, gaze unfocussed, too fazed by the strength of his orgasm and -- _Malfoy came without so much as a finger on his cock_.

He had to leave. Now. Before they rediscovered their ability to hear clumsy Gryffindors coming in their pants two feet away. 

He couldn't move.

Malfoy stretched like a cat and smirked lazily, any softness left behind, presumably, with his sperm, now drying on Zabini's skin. Zabini attempted to grab his arse to keep him in place a while longer, and Malfoy swore loudly before batting his hands away and standing up with a horrid squelching sound. Harry's traitorous cock jerked a bit in his sticky pants. 

"Well, this wasn't half bad," Malfoy concluded as he reached for his wand to clean himself up. "You held out long enough, considering."

"You're a hopeless slut and you know it," Zabini parried, too quick. He stayed put and succeeded in looking comfortable and relaxed through sheer Slytherinliness, but Harry was sure his legs wouldn't hold him if he tried to stand up just then. He knew the feeling.

"Yes, I do," Malfoy actually sounded smug about it, like coming (untouched!) was the same as winning the Quidditch cup, or something. Harry's cock was on its way to fully hard already. The thought returned, unbidden: I could shag you so hard you would crumble. 

He clenched his hands into fists, tried to breathe more evenly, and stayed there, only half-listening to the inevitable Slytherin-style bickering, while fantasy after fantasy played out in his mind: Malfoy spread out on his bed, offering himself shamelessly. Cornering Malfoy between lessons and pushing him into a supplies cupboard and Vanishing his clothes with a quick spell, catching him unawares. He'd be so tight, unprepared. Shocked into submission, pliable, and _hurting_. 

If such a thing as Occlumency existed in the wizarding world, he thought, could one possibly learn to block one's own thoughts? He doubted it. Also, his grasp of Occlumency was as feeble as ever, anyway. 

He thought of Ginny, gloriously naked on top of him, riding him much like Malfoy just did Zabini, smiling and in control and holding back just a little bit, because taking him all the way in would hurt her, and she didn't like being hurt. She didn't like being held down and not being in control, either, and maybe Malfoy didn't like that, too, what with Zabini sitting still and letting Malfoy set the pace, but... Harry wanted to know if he did. He ached to know. He ached to try.

Malfoy and Zabini left. The common room was eerily quiet without Malfoy's gentle sighing, and Harry bit his lip and straightened his Invisibility Cloak. He was sweaty and sticky and embarrassed, and Ginny was probably waiting up, and he had a hard time remembering what he was supposed to be doing in the Slytherin dungeons in the first place. A recon mission, Merlin, it was so stupid, and he'd been actually excited about it, eager to bring some good old House rivalry back into his Hogwarts life.

He took a few deep breaths and proceeded to explore the room for future dung bomb placement. However stupid, however childish, he could concentrate on that. And on Ginny, who was waiting for him, bright and warm and comforting and always in control. Let Zabini have Malfoy training him not to come too fast, or whatever it was those Slytherin perverts did in their spare time. Harry couldn't care less.


End file.
